


Prologue

by Minchowski



Series: First Class Thief: The Life and Times of Sir Brian Andrew Downing of the Kingdom of Dorian [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Beating, Crime, Depression, F/M, Fights, Gen, Hints of Self-Hatred, Kleptomania, My characters, No Well-Defined Time Period, Poor Brian, Prison, Probably a Lot of Stuff I Forgot, Punishment, Stealing, War, Watch Them Suffer, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minchowski/pseuds/Minchowski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the prologue of the first story I've ever written and actually finished; I'm currently rewriting it right now. The whole point of the prologue is to explain what the book is about, and I suck at writing summaries, but here goes:<br/>Brian Downing is a thief in a Kingdom where stealing is a capital offense, and he is adopted into the Royal Family. He spends his entire life feeling like a screw-up because he can't stop stealing. Because of this, he spends his whole life looking for redemption. This is NOT the story of his redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

            I suppose I've always known how my life would end; I am a thief, after all, but that doesn't mean I’m ready to face my execution.

            I grew up on the streets of the Kingdom of Dorian in a time of plague, famine, drought, and war – not a happy or prosperous time by any means. All of the street kids had been forced to steal to survive. We stole food, clothing, and enough money to find shelter. We were only supposed to steal enough to get by, but I’d eventually started stealing more than my share because I enjoyed the thrill of it; I’ve never stopped thieving since my early life on the street.

            I just wish now that I’d never pushed my luck and tried to rob the Sheriff; that was the end for me – any chance of redeeming myself ended that night. The stupidest thing I ever did, though, was returning from my exile knowing what would happen. Coming home may well have been the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my whole, short, ill-conceived, and ill-fated life of doing stupid things.

            Sometimes, in the past, I’ve wondered if I was always destined to die this way – as a punishment for my unabashed life of crime – from the very first time I’d stolen, when I was but a six-year-old child.

            I’m afraid I’m telling this story all wrong. I’m terribly sorry; I guess I make rather a poor narrator. All the same, I’d like to leave a record for the people who love me, so they’ll know I don’t blame them and that I loved them dearly. For those of my readers who don’t already know me, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Brian Downing, and I am a first-class thief.

            Unfortunately, in my native Kingdom of Dorian, theft is a capital offense, and I most certainly am caught.

            This Law is not often applied to those who steal only to survive, but it will certainly apply to me, as well it should. I steal only because I want to steal; there is no good reason or decent excuse. I spent the best years of my life in the Dorian Palace, and if I’d behaved correctly, I would never have been too poor to buy anything I wanted ever again.

            I was a Prince of the Realm, and I stole _from_ the Realm, from my own family. When I think of what I did to them, of the hell that I put them through, I know that I never had a destiny. I knowingly made every one of the awful choices that brought me here, and I hate myself for it, more than the King (once my elder brother) ever could. I just wish that I could apologize to the man who has always been my hero for the terrible thing he has to do tomorrow.

            Right now I’m lying in chains in the Palace Dungeons, awaiting the return of the King’s Guard. It’s boring and painful, and I hate it.

            The heavy iron chains wrapped loosely around my slight frame keep me from moving too far away from the wall. They’re more than heavy enough to make breathing with my broken ribs excruciatingly painful and difficult, but not nearly heavy enough to threaten my life. Not worth complaining about.

            When the Guardsmen return to my cell, they will remove the chains, which will be nice, and then they will escort me to the Palace courtyards where my older brother will execute me for my crimes, which will be considerably less nice. At least I won’t have to suffer through any more lashes. If I never see another whip, it’ll still be too soon.

            I actually forced myself to stop stealing and succeeded for nearly two years before stealing that stupid Andalusian relic. But I can’t bring myself to regret the return to the stealing. I do, however, regret my ruined face, my missing teeth, my broken ribs, and my dead best friend.

            Please don’t misunderstand me, dear reader – none of this was any part of my punishment for theft, and no one at the Palace would ever hurt me that way. No one in the King’s Guard would ever actively set out to hurt me; after all, most of those men had known me since I was a very young and frightened child. I still knew, however, that they would do their job and hold me still while my head was separated from my shoulders.

            I wish I could see a doctor for my ribs and my pneumonia, but my jailers refused me medical care and everyone else has just ignored me. Then again, I’m going to die soon anyway, regardless of anything the doctor could do. Why waste his time with a patient who is guaranteed to die despite his best efforts?

            I’ve been in these dungeons for more than a month this time, and I’ve almost forgotten how it feels to not be in pain. Michael, my little brother, is still avoiding the dungeons, which is fine by me; I’m not even sure I’d want him to see me like this. William, meanwhile, has neglected his traditional role of comforter and protector, and I find myself missing him terribly.

            I’m still doing a poor job of telling my story. I guess I should probably start at the beginning of my life on the streets, a little over seventeen years ago. This is my life’s story; I cannot promise to tell it well, but I can promise that it won’t be boring – I’ve led rather an interesting life.


	2. Note From William

         This is Brian's brother, King William XXV. I found this manuscript last year, five years after Brian's death and decided to publish it.

          I've added diary entries from myself and Reed (as Michael and Dak don't seem to have kept diaries and I can't bring myself to read our Father's journals) to give more context to Brian's story, and I also added some additional events to the story - events Brian could not possibly have written about. The part of the story Brian wrote obviously ended on the day of his execution, but I've expanded it to include the next few years of the life of the Royal Family as well.

          I still can't read this story (especially the part that Brian wrote) without feeling guilty, but I feel that Brian would want everyone in the Kingdoms of Dorian and Andalusia to know his story. This is our joint apology to each other and to the rest of our family and friends . . . and, by extension, to the kingdom as a whole.

          I was an ass, and I apologize for that; Brian was a thief, and he died for that. Everyone has heard his confession; consider this book to be mine. I'll be following my brother to the afterlife soon; the physicians have assured me that my disease is terminal. I look forward to being reunited with Brian and apologizing face-to-face.

          May the gods forgive me for what I did to him in life!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The note from William is short, but I thought it was kind of important to the story as a whole.


	3. William's Journal

_Date: 11|6|58_

_I’m going to kill Brian tomorrow, and I think – no, I know – that I hate myself for it. The poor boy’s only twenty-three years old; he’s still basically just a child. I feel like I’m murdering him._

_Why am I going through with this?! Surely no one would actually think less of me for not executing my own brother?! I don’t want to kill him; hell, I don’t ever want him dead. I want more than anything to just give him a pardon and a hug. If it weren’t for my advisors and the near-constant threat of war with Andalusia, I probably would._

_I still can’t convince myself that Brian deserves a death sentence for his crimes. A few years in prison, maybe, but not death. It would be different if he’d ever hurt anyone or if he’d even enjoyed breaking the law, but I know him better than that. I know him better than he knows himself._

_He only stole that stupid statue from Andalusia to save my miserable life. And how am I going to thank him for his selfless act of devotion? Why, by striking his head from his shoulders, of course! What kind of horrifying monster am I?!_

_The only comfort I can find in any of this is that he knew what would happen if he returned, and he did it anyway. That means that this isn’t really my decision; this is a sacrifice he willingly made. Which only makes it that much worse because I know I don’t deserve it – my life is not worth his, the world is losing in this bargain. It’s not fair. To anyone._

_It’s possible that this would be easier, at least for me, if Brian hated me for what I’m going to do, at least as much as I hate myself. But he doesn’t. The silly sod doesn’t even blame me. He seems to think that he deserves my hatred and his death sentence! And I can’t bring myself to tell him otherwise._

_How can I tell a man I’m going to execute that he’s the best man I’ve ever met? Never mind that it’s absolutely true._

_He gave up his life to save me, and I didn’t even need to ask. I’m not sure I deserve that level of devotion from anyone, but I know I didn’t do anything to earn it from Brian. That man has never heard a single kind word from me unless he’s already been arrested or is facing death; I was always cruel to him unless he was in the dungeons. Brian has always thought that I hated him; he probably still thinks I hate him. And he spends his time trying to comfort and save me!_

_Michael has told me multiple times that I’m one of the only four men alive that our brother really cares about (well, I guess it’s only three men now that Reed’s dead). I don’t know what I ever did to earn membership in that exclusive group; the other three men always obviously loved and cared about Brian. I’m slowly beginning to realize, though, that my little brother, the criminal, has much more honor and loyalty than anyone else I’ve ever met. Especially me._

_How the hell can I kill him for that?!_

_Michael’s never going to forgive me for this. He’ll probably never even speak to me again. It took him the better part of a year to forgive me when we were all kids and I beat Brian senseless for stealing a loaf of bread. The aftermath of the beating I gave him led directly to this. All of this is my fault. I can’t kill a man for something that’s my fault. But I have to._

_Michael adores Brian (always has), loves him like a real brother (more, probably; he’s always preferred Brian to me), and he’s named his only son after our errant brother (Prince Brian Sloan). I’m not even sure that I really want Michael to ever be able to forgive me for what I’m going to do tomorrow._

_I’m ripping Brian away from him, but it’s the law; Brian Andrew Downing has to die for his crimes, and I have to be the one to kill him._

_What is this going to do to the remnants of our family? Hell, what is this going to do to me?! I know it’s going to at least ruin my marriage. Honestly, at this point I’m just praying to survive tomorrow without going insane._

_God, I wish Reed were here!_

_**King William XXV of Dorian** _


End file.
